Somebody's Hero
by Dakota-Jones
Summary: John isn't invincible. He and Chas are forced to learn this the hard way, after a brutal attack leaves John with months of helpless recovery and only his young apprentice to give him hope. Chastine, COMPLETED!
1. Chapter 1

Chas didn't appreciate it when he was awakened at 2:30am by his cell phone ringing. He knew it was John, asking for a ride to some kind of exorcism, but that didn't change the fact that it was 2:30 in the fucking morning. Not even morning. Some obscure hour of night that didn't exist for normal people.

He grabbed blindly on the floor beside his bed, fishing in his jeans for his phone, the ring becoming louder as he pulled it out from the folds of clothing. The console on the front was the only light in the small, stuffy room, flashing rapidly between blue, pink, green…it was enough to drive a sleepy teenager insane.

"What do you want, John?" he muttered sleepily as he flipped open the phone, not bothering to lift his head from the pillow, just adjusting his head to put the phone to his ear.

"Mr. Kramer? Chas Kramer?"

He didn't recognize the voice. He sat up on his elbows, hearing a commotion in the background. "Yeah, I'm Chas."

"This is Dr. Pfennigar, at Ravenscar Hospital," the voice said, and Chas's mind seemed to blank. Somehow, he knew what was coming. "A man was brought in a few minutes ago with severe wounds from an assault. He had your name and number in his jacket."

Chas's heart was in his throat. He felt like he'd swallowed cotton. This was the call he'd half expected all along, it was even why John kept his name and number in his jacket; he knew how big the risks were in his line of work, and Chas knew all of his contacts and could handle being the first told if anything were to happen.

At least, he could handle it before he fell hard for his mentor. Now it seemed more like a curse.

"Mr. Kramer? Are you there?"

"Yeah," Chas choked out. "Is he tall with black hair? Wearin' a suit?"

"That's him. I was hoping you could come down here and speak with me in person."

_It's bad. They wouldn't ask you to come unless it was bad._

"I'll be there in five minutes."

Chas ignored the grunting and pounding noises of sex through the paper-thin walls, his mind occupied with other things; he didn't even bother with clothes. He had on boxer shorts and a t-shirt, and that was enough for him. He didn't turn on the light to stumble to the door, since he couldn't afford any extra on his electric bill this month and he'd been trying to not use the light at all.

He grabbed his hat off the stack of boxes by the door and took his keys out of it, walking out and shutting the door behind him. Nobody around here bothered locking their doors unless they were inside; if you lived around here you obviously didn't have anything worth stealing, and the broken lock from a kicked-in door was expensive to replace.

The ride to the hospital was all a blur. He knew he was going fast, he knew he ran multiple stop lights and almost hit a few pedestrians, but he didn't care. He needed to go to John. John needed him.

_What if you're too late? What if by the time you get there it's all over, and you weren't there for him, and he has to die alone?_

_What if he heard you thinking these sappy thoughts? He'd kick your ass, Kramer._

He screeched to a stop outside the emergency room and sprinted inside, running into the desk at full force with a loud 'thud'.

"Where is he? John Constantine, is he alright?"

The nurse at the desk stared like a goldfish for a few moments. "Calm down, sir…who're you talking about?"

"The guy in the suit, they brought him in not too long ago," Chas said pleadingly, and the lady nodded.

"I remember. Let me go get the doctor for you, hon, you just wait right there."

She got up and walked away, and then ensuing two minute wait felt like the longest two minutes in Chas's life. He had nothing to go on but the vague words the doctor had used on the phone, which were less than encouraging.

As soon as he saw the nurse returning with the doctor in tow, Chas was moving before the order even consciously got from his brain to his feet. He met the doctor halfway down the hallway, already asking the pivotal question.

"Is he okay?"

The doctor hesitated. Chas's face fell.

"He'll live, Mr. Kramer," the doctor finally said, his tone morbidly flat. "He was found in an alley behind a warehouse downtown, no idea how long he'd been there…"

"I just dropped him off, I should've stayed, I'd just fucking dropped him off," Chas said, his voice quiet and distraught. The doctor hesitated to make sure he was okay, and then continued.

"He has severe stab wounds to his abdomen and legs. Luckily there was minimal damage to vital organs, so we've been able to keep him stable," he said, each word adding more dread to Chas's state of mind. "Do you know who his next of kin is? Are you his son?"

Chas cringed. "No. No, he doesn't have any family, not around here. I'm his…his apprentice. His, uh…driver."

The doctor nodded, writing down something on a chart.

"Can I see him?" Chas asked, practically begging already. The doctor shook his head.

"He's still in surgery, but they're finishing up. Shouldn't be longer than a couple hours and I can take you to him."

Chas nodded. "I'll wait right out here," he said, and the doctor looked him up and down, as if noticing his state for the first time: pajamas, bed hair, only socks on his feet.

"You have time to drive home and ch-"

"No. I have to stay. He needs me here."

The doctor gave him a look of sheer pity, and then turned and walked away. Chas sat down in one of the waiting room chairs, exhausted and shivering in the air-conditioned lobby, unable to keep from dozing slightly but never able to fully fall asleep. One of the nurses took pity on him and brought him a blanket, and someone in the lobby bought him hot chocolate at a vending machine.

Chas briefly considered driving back to that warehouse and interrogating everyone he saw there until he found out who did this. Then he realized just how foolish that would be; anyone who had the guts to beat up John Constantine had to be a half breed, and Chas had no idea how to deal with half breeds one on one. Besides, anyone involved would be long gone from the scene by now.

It was three hours and seven minutes exactly until the doctor returned to the lobby. He took Chas aside, since most of the people in the lobby had taken quite an interest in the boy's case and would likely try to overhear.

"He's out of recovery and in the ICU," Dr. Pfennigar said quietly, one hand on Chas's shoulder, as if he thought the boy would fall over.

"So I can see him?"

"He's still asleep and will be for quite a while. There's always a chance he won't wake up, Mr. Kramer. His injuries-"

"I don't care. I want to see him. _Please_."

The doctor nodded, taking Chas down the hallway to the elevator. He was silent until the elevator doors closed and it began to move.

"If he should recover…once he gets out of the hospital, he'll need care 24/7. He should probably stay with a friend, until he's better able to care for himself."

_Stay with a friend? Beeman lives in that little cubby hole, Midnite is less than hospitable and John wouldn't want him knowing about this anyway, Hennessey has that crap apartment with the foil all over the walls…_

Despite all these thoughts, he simply nodded. He knew if it came down to it, he would go as far as to sleep on the floor at John's apartment to be there to help him.

"He's in room 304, down at the end of the hall," the doctor said as they got out of the elevator. "I'll be in and out, taking care of his medications and checking up on his condition."

Chas nodded, and he walked quickly to the room at the end of the hall. But once he reached the door, he stopped dead.

He didn't want to see John, his hero, his idol, like this. Lying in some hospital bed, unconscious, helpless…it would be like admitting that someday even Superman would die. He reached out to the door handle, his handle touching it, and the coldness of the metal sent chills up his spine.

_You can't stand out here forever. You said from the start you'd be there the second he needs you, and he needs you right now more than ever. Not that he'd admit it._

He pushed open the door and walked inside, and it was like one of his worst nightmares coming true.

John was as pale as the sheets he was laying on, and there were tubes in his mouth, nose, and arm, leading to various bags and pumps. The skin that Chas could see was covered with bandages or bruised deep purple, and a bandage around his head marred the ebony hair that was always so perfectly messy.

Chas slowly shuffled forward, nervously eyeing the machines sitting around John, all of them whirring and beeping and flashing, but underneath all that was morbid silence.

"John?" Chas inquired softly, despite the fact that he knew he wouldn't get a response. He took a few more steps forward, numbly grabbing at the nearest chair and pulling it up beside the bed, though not sitting yet.

"John…c'mon, wake up, you lazy ass," he said, gently touching John's arm. No response; just the steady beeping of the heart monitor and whirring of the other machines around them.

Chas slowly sank down in the chair, his hand still on John's arm. He felt like if he pulled his hand away he might lose John; he had to somehow hold the man to this plain, connect him here, let him know that there was still someone here with him who wouldn't give up on him.

"Now see, I wanted to come with you on this bust. If you'd have just let me come, I could've thrown a few spells out there, used one of your guns…Jesus, John, why've you gotta be so stubborn?" Chas interrogated, his hand sliding down John's arm to rest on his hand.

He paused again, not sure what he could say. Maybe John couldn't even hear him.

"I swear, John, as soon as I find out who did this I'm kickin' their ass into next Tuesday. They'll regret ever going near you," he promised, sniffing hard to hold back tears. He didn't want to cry, especially not since John was right there, even though the man obviously couldn't see him.

He looked down at their hands. Something simple, so simple, and he'd wanted to do it for so long; a gentle touch, just to find out if John's skin was really as smooth as it looked. He stared at his hand on John's for a few moments later before shoving doubt aside and gripping John's hand a bit tighter.

"I'm not gonna leave, okay? I'm gonna be right here till you're ready to leave this dumb place," he promised, gently stroking John's knuckles with his thumb. After a few moments, he was just too physically and mentally exhausted to keep his head up. He laid his head on the edge of John's bed, still clasping his hand in his, and within moments his fatigued body gave in to sleep.

John's hand tightened on his.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week. It had been the longest week of Chas's life.

It only took John a few hours to wake up, but instead of relief, this only brought frustration as John's temper got the best of him. Even drugged up on morphine, John could drive any sane person out of their mind.

Not that Chas blamed him. He had to be in excruciating pain. Unlike the nurses Chas took every verbal blow without backing down, staying at the hospital 24/7, calling in to work with a horrible flu.

Chas did everything he could, everything John would let him do. Soon Chas was more like a stay in nurse, since most of the actual nurses were scared to death of John. They joked that Chas was braver than all of them, even fighting John into letting him help with such things as getting to the bathroom and sponge baths.

Only those nurses seemed to notice Chas's deteriorating condition. He was completely broke, in fact behind in all his bills, but he couldn't leave the hospital for fear that John wouldn't let the nurses do _anything_ for him. He was awake every time John was, only sleeping when he was sure John was asleep, and even then he only slept curled up in a chair in the room.

All in all, Chas was mentally and physically spent by the time the doctors said John could go home. He'd recovered from the surgery much faster than they thought he would, but his injuries were still too severe to be walking or any average amount of movement.

"Is there anyone else who can stay with him? I know you handle his temper amazingly well, but-"

Chas cut off Dr. Pfennigar. "No. He wouldn't want anyone else around right now. I'll be fine."

The doctor sighed, seemed disappointed. Then he fished around in John's file, pulling out a sheet of paper and handing it to Chas.

"There are instructions on that sheet, telling you exactly what medications he should take, how often, and how long. There's also a guide on changing the bandages and the various states of healing the wounds should go through. I've set up five follow-up appointments, they're down at the bottom."

"Thanks," Chas said, studying the page. Dr. Pfennigar hesitated, and then held out a business card to Chas.

"It's the domestic abuse hotline," he said simply as Chas stared in surprise at the card. Chas didn't take it- instead, his hands tightened on the sheet of paper in his hands.

"He wouldn't hurt me," he said to the doctor, his tone venomous. "He's _not_ abusive."

"I wasn't suggesting that. I was simply worried about the way he's been speaking to you while he's been here-"

"He was fucking _stabbed_! You'd be a little damn moody if someone stabbed you and left you for dead in a back alley!" Chas shrieked, attracting the attention of nurses and visitors in the hallway.

"Just take the card, Chas…"

"You can take that card and shove it up your ass," Chas snapped, turning and storming away toward John's room. He stopped abruptly outside the room, gathering his wits and getting his emotions back under control; he couldn't afford to walk into John's room already ticked off.

"Hey John," he said with a cheery grin as he stepped back in the room. John glared at him, changing the channel.

"Where've you been?"

"Just talking with the doctors. I have good news," Chas answered, sitting down in the chair beside the bed.

"Better be _damn_ good."

"You get to go home today."

John's expression actually brightened for once. "About time! These fuckin' doctors, they don't know what the hell they're doing," he said, scooting toward the edge of the bed, grimacing in pain.

"Let me get your wheelchair," Chas said, but John shot him a glare that could melt steel.

"I don't need to be fuckin' rolled around like an invalid."

"But your leg injuries-"

"I don't fuckin' need the chair, Chas!"

Chas fell silent, taking a couple steps back as John struggled to get to his feet, knowing when to just step aside and let John figure things out the hard way. And when John's legs predictably gave out on him, Chas was there to grab him and hold him up.

He fumbled to pull the chair over to them and helped John sit down in it, pretending not to notice the expression of shame on John's face.

"My cab's right outside the doors, I moved it a while ago. You ready?"

John snorted, glaring at the wall. "Let's just fuckin' go," he muttered. Chas closed his eyes for a few moments, taking a few deep breaths before wheeling John out of the room and down to the elevator. He ignored the pleading look that he got from Dr. Pfennigar; he didn't need any hotline card. He never would. John wasn't exactly a pleasant person, but he certainly wasn't abusive.

The ride down to the cab was silent. John obviously wasn't interested in conversation, and Chas didn't dare try to start one right now.

The cool evening air felt good after being inside a hospital for so many days, and Chas took a deep breath of the fresh air. He took John over to the cab and opened the back door, reaching out a hand to help John up and into the cab.

John glared. Chas didn't retract his hand.

Finally, John reached out and grabbed onto Chas, and together they maneuvered him painfully into the backseat. Chas closed the door and folded up the wheelchair, putting it in the trunk.

"At least you'll be allowed to smoke again," Chas offered as he got in and started to drive toward the apartment. John didn't answer.

"And a comfy bed. I mean, those hospital beds can't be comforta-"

"Chas, _shut up_."

"Right. Right. Shutting up," Chas said quietly, grabbing a piece of stale licorice from the bag by his seat. He didn't care how long he'd had that bag; he hadn't eaten hardly anything for the last week. In fact, stepping on a hospital scale just yesterday, he'd found that in six days he'd managed to lose 22 pounds. He was practically fasting.

They got to the apartment, and this time John didn't complain when Chas helped him out of the cab and into his wheelchair.

Luckily there was an elevator in the building. It wasn't very big or sturdy, but enough for a wheelchair and one other person. Soon enough John was back in his own apartment, and the first thing he did was grab at the cigarettes on the table.

"I'm gonna go get some stuff out of the car, okay? I'll be back in two minutes," Chas said, and John didn't respond, just lit up a cigarette. Chas hesitated, and then turned and walked out, heading for the car to get the box of bandages and medications he'd put in there earlier.

As he pulled the box from the car his cell phone rang, and he put the box down on the back of the car, flipping open his phone.

"Hello?"

"Chas? This is Linda."

The landlord. Chas's stomach dropped into his feet. "Listen, Linda, I know I'm a little bit behind…"

"You owe me 1300 dollars in back rent. I've asked for payments seven times. Where the hell have you been?"

"Well…a good friend of mine was in the hospital, and I-"

"Oh, priceless, Mr. Kramer, tryin' to lie to me like this? You know, anyone else I would've kicked out a month ago, but I thought you were a pretty smart kid…"

Chas's hand tightened on the phone. "Just give me another week or two. I swear, I can make a payment."

"A payment isn't enough. I want you out tonight. If your key isn't turned in by the time I close office tomorrow, I'll throw your stuff on the street."

"Linda…"

"Good night, Chas."

She hung up. Chas sighed heavily, leaning back against the cab as he closed his cell phone and picked the box up again. He trudged back up to John's apartment, where John had wheeled over to the window, smoking a cigarette straight down to the filter.

Chas gently touched his shoulder. "Do you need anything, John?"

"No."

Chas paused, not bothering to try and smile since John wasn't even looking. He unpacked the medications from the box and put them on the counter, and then set the bandages and creams next to them.

"I'm going to bed," John announced after a few moments, and Chas immediately moved to help him.

"And I _don't _need your help," John continued. Chas masked the disappointment and frustration with a weak smile and a shrug, watching carefully as John wheeled himself up to his bed.

Chas kept careful watch on John out of the corner of his eye, and as he knew would happen, John faltered and almost fell. Chas was immediately there, helping to steady him and pull down the sheets as John got into the bed with stifled grunts of pain.

"Hang on, you've got to take your medicine," Chas said, tripping over his own feet to get to the kitchen. He gathered the seven or so pills that John needed to take, taking those and a glass of water to him.

"You're as bad as a fuckin' nagging wife," John mumbled before taking the pills and shoving the glass back into Chas's hands.

Chas ignored the comment, instead tugging up at John's shirt a bit to make sure his bandages didn't need changing. Satisfied that John was okay and everything was done, Chas left the bedroom, hoping to hear some kind of a thank you but at the same time knowing he wouldn't.

He cleaned the apartment up a bit to keep himself from falling asleep, waiting until he was certain John was asleep before he decided to go gather his stuff from his apartment.

He crept out quietly and took the drive there as quickly as he dared, and he still almost fell asleep at the wheel twice. He got to his apartment and quickly gathered his things; that actually wasn't saying much, since all of his belongings could fit into three medium-sized boxes.

He stopped at the desk on the way out and slid his key under the door, and then checked his mail for the last time, taking it with him back to John's apartment. He fell asleep at the wheel twice on the way back, and he walked in only to find John on the floor halfway to the bathroom.

"John! Jesus Christ, why didn't you wait? I was gonna be right back!" Chas exclaimed, dropping the mail on the table and rushing to John's side.

"I didn't fuckin' know that," John growled. "I woke up and you were fuckin' gone, I thought you went home."

Chas shook his head. "I'm not gonna leave you here alone like that. If I leave, it's only for a few minutes," he insisted, helping John into his wheelchair and taking him into the bathroom. He held John up until he finished, and then they followed the same tiresome process to get him back into bed.

"You okay now? Need anything else?" Chas asked.

"More morphine."

Chas laughed, until he realized that John was serious, and then he sadly shook his head.

"I have strict directions on the medications to give you. You know that."

John muttered and practically growled, but soon he settled back, letting Chas check his bandages again. Satisfied that John hadn't done any further damage to himself in his hard spill to the floor, Chas went back to the kitchen and sat down at the table to go through his mail.

The first three envelopes were, predictably, bills. Two of them were already many months overdue and being turned in to a collection agency. But the fourth envelope made Chas's heart leap to his throat.

It was from UCLA. He'd turned in his application just a few weeks ago, very late, but it had been a kind of last minute decision to apply after he found out he'd be getting a grant if he went.

With shaking hands he tore open the envelope, pulling out the fat wad of folded papers and opening to the top one.

The first word was…congratulations. He'd been accepted to UCLA, with grants and scholarships paving his way.

Chas swallowed hard. August had just begun. If he were to do this, he'd have to leave in a week or two to go to the dorms, start preparing for the year…

He looked up at John's sleeping form, listening to the exorcist's soft breathing in the silent apartment. He looked back down at the letter, swallowing hard to fight back tears.

College wasn't an option right now. He had to be here for John. Like hell would John let Hennessey, Beeman, or Midnite see him in this state, let alone care for him.

He pushed the papers back in the envelope, scooted his chair back, and shoved it down into the trash can. He gathered up the bills, tears leaving wet tracks down his cheeks as he pushed them into his backpack and set it aside.

He looked around, running his hand through his hair, his breathing shaky. He had to be here for John, so that excluded sleeping in his cab, and John didn't have a couch or anything.

He scrounged around and found a couple blankets, then quietly stole a pillow from the bed. He laid one of the blankets down on the floor and settled down with his head on the pillow, pulling the other blanket up over him. He was already in pain from the hard flooring beside John's bed, but it was his only option.

He curled up, stifling his sobs into silence so he wouldn't wake John up. Eventually, he cried himself to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

"Chas…hey, Chas."

Chas groaned, feeling nothing but pain for a few moments. Every joint in his body was stiff from sleeping on hard flooring. He slowly pushed himself up, his body complaining with every movement.

"Wake up, asshole," John ordered, and Chas nodded.

"I'm awake, I'm awake. Hang on," he said, stretching and rubbing his elbows, wrists, and neck.

_If only you had enough money for a damn air mattress._

He stood up, looking over at the bed to find John already sitting up against the headboard, looking fairly annoying. He glanced at the clock; it read 5am.

"About time. I've been hungry for half an hour," John muttered. Chas nodded sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

"What do you want?"

"Anything but hospital food. And how about some whiskey?"

"John, you know the doctor said-"

"I don't give a damn what the doctor said, I'm in fuckin' pain and I need some whiskey."

John's tone was so threatening that Chas didn't dare complain. He shuffled off to the kitchen, burning himself twice in his feeble attempts at making bacon and eggs. He filled a glass halfway with whiskey and the rest of the way with water, figuring that a little watered-down alcohol couldn't hurt that much.

He gathered John's medications and the tray of food and took it back into the bedroom, where John was waiting impatiently. He set down the tray on John's lap, and began separating out the pills he needed to take.

"You burned them," John complained, poking at the eggs. Chas muttered a 'sorry', putting the pills down on the tray.

Chas folded up the blankets that he'd used and put them away as John finished eating, and he made sure to watch as John took the pills to be sure he took them all.

"You need anything else?" Chas asked through a yawn.

"Bathroom."

Chas inwardly groaned. This was never an easy task, but they managed it, as always. It was time for John's bath anyway, and they decided to just do both.

Chas started the warm water flowing, getting it to the temperature he knew John wouldn't mind- John liked it hot, almost too hot to be comfortable.

Chas helped him strip down, used to averting his gaze to avoid embarrassment by now, checking the stitches on all the wounds before helping John sit down in the tub.

They were always silent at these moments. Chas had been helping John bathe since three days after the accident, every other day, sometimes every day. At first it had been uncomfortable and embarrassing for both involved, but after a while it just became a task of silence and comfort. Due to a wound on the back of his shoulder John couldn't reach up to wash his torso or hair, so it became a kind of therapeutic task for John.

Chas spent a few minutes dutifully washing John's hair, massaging his scalp, working in the shampoo and conditioner as carefully as he would re-bandage the wounds.

"How're you feeling?" Chas asked, softly, breaking the silence.

"Fucking duh, it hurts."

"How much?"

John shrugged, shifting, the sounds of rippling water the only other sound in the apartment. "Not that much."

"Liar."

"Well, it hurts less than before."

"Now that I'll believe."

Chas gently scrubbed John's back with soap, trying anything to keep his mind off his own problems. He didn't want to think about UCLA, didn't want to think about the debt he was in, didn't want to think of how easily John had pulled up the money to pay the extensive hospital bills…

No. Definitely didn't want to think about that.

Instead, Chas looked down at John, for once letting his eyes rove over the man's body. He was sitting behind John, the exorcist couldn't see him, so why not?

The subtly defined muscles, the pale yet flawless skin…most definitely gifted where it really mattered…Chas couldn't help himself, really. He'd always had a fascination with John, and had only just begun to realize recently how deep-seated the fascination was. A crush. It didn't really surprise him, even though the bitterness at knowing nothing could come of it was still there.

He shoved the uncomfortable thoughts aside and finished and helped John dry off and get back into pajamas, and then he wheeled the exhausted man back to his room and got him into bed.

"Anything else?"

"Why are you actin' so weird?"

Chas stuttered for a few moments, and then he pretended to be clueless. "I'm not actin' weird."

John snorted. "Usually I can't shut you up. Now you're actin' like a damn mute, 'cept for askin' me if I need anything."

"I'm just tired."

"Right," John said, letting it drop. Chas was almost disappointed; a part of him wanted to tell John everything, wanted some comfort, but he wasn't about to dump all that shit on John when he was injured like this.

There was a knock at the door, and Chas made sure John was okay, and then he closed off the bedroom and answered it. Midnite stood there, and he gave Chas a curious look.

"I heard John was home."

Chas nodded. "Home, but not takin' visitors or anything."

"He has a few relics he promised me."

Chas almost snorted, but managed to keep his amusement to himself. _Way to worry about a friend's health._

"I'll talk to him, find out if he has them here," Chas said, opening the door wider. "You want anything? A drink?"

"Vodka sounds fine, thank you."

Chas slipped into the bedroom, being sure to keep Midnite's view of John blocked. He paused momentarily, a dizzy spell making him unsteady on his feet for a few moments. He shook it off before John noticed, though.

"Midnite's here," he said softly.

"Yeah, well, tell him to beat it."

"And get my soul strangled? I think not," Chas said, standing at the foot of the bed. "He says you have some relics for him…?"

John nodded, coughed lightly. "In the cabinet, third shelf. Brown box with a black "X" on the side."

Chas nodded, slipping out of the room. Midnite was sitting at the table, and Chas silently poured him a glass of vodka, feeling a headache coming on. The dizziness wasn't going away now.

"He has the relics?"

"Yes, sir," Chas said, shuffling over to the cabinet and pulling the box down. "He said everything would be…in…"

Chas paused, reaching up and putting his hand to his head, trying to steady the room. "In here."

Midnite raised an eyebrow, taking a drink of the vodka. "You seem ill."

"Just tired."

"Understandable. John is a bitch when he's in pain."

Chas looked up at Midnite. "Lucky guess."

"No. I had to take care of him after a demon almost ripped his leg off."

Chas sat down and leaned forward. "Really?"

Midnite nodded. "He'll drive you into the ground, kid. And don't expect a thank you. You won't get one."

"I didn't expect one," Chas said with a shrug, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. Midnite chuckled.

"Just keep your head out of the water and don't get him angry."

Midnite finished off half the drink and stood, grabbing the box and tucking it under his arm. He said a simple good luck before leaving, and Chas sighed heavily.

He'd put everything on hold for John. He hadn't expected anything in return…had he? No, not at the start. But now that this was wearing down on him, exhausting him in mind and body, he wasn't so sure he could handle it alone.

He lifted his head. In the trash can, he could see the envelope he'd put there the night before, the one from UCLA. His acceptance letter, his way out.

"Chas!"

Chas choked back a sob of sheer confusion, his hands tangling tight in his hair, painfully tight.

"Chas, I need you in here! Sometime _today_!"

_Can't handle it. Can't take it. It's all over, you're just his slave._

His cell phone rang.

"_Chas!_"

"I'll be there in a second!" Chas screamed at John, flipping his cell phone open and holding it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Chas? Where the hell are you, your shift started an hour ago! We need someone covering east downtown!"

Mark Tucker. His boss. "Mr. Tucker, I'm still really tied up here, I told you that-"

"I don't care what you told me before, I told you that you had to be back at work today!"

"I'll be there in a couple days, sir, that's all I need…"

"No, Kramer. Not this time. I've got other people lined up for your job, and I need someone reliable. I'm gonna have to let you go."

"Please, Mr. Tucker, if you'd just-"

"Have your keys and your car turned in by tomorrow when the office closes."

Tucker hung up.

"Chas! Now!" John yelled from the bedroom as Chas dropped his phone to the floor. His hands were shaking, his breath was coming in rapid gasps, and tears fell silently from his eyes.

He couldn't take it.

Unconsciously, he stood up and took a couple steps toward the bedroom, but he stumbled, dizziness overcoming him. Exhaustion, starvation, mental turmoil, it all fell in on him like cement.

Chas was unconscious even too fast to realize he'd fallen.

* * *

Chas wasn't unconscious for long. He woke with a pounding headache, slowly pushing himself up from the floor, still shaking like a leaf.

He gathered himself for a few moments, in a bit of a daze. He slipped into the bedroom silently, prepared for an angry outburst; he wasn't disappointed.

"Where the hell were you? I've been damn thirsty for a good fuckin' ten minutes here!"

Chas hesitated, and shrugged. "I fell asleep at the table."

"Then what was that crash?"

"Accidentally knocked a chair over…"

"Clumsy asshole. How about some more whiskey here?"

Chas shook his head. "No more. I wasn't supposed to give you any at all."

"Aw, come on, Chas…"

"Water, tea, orange juice, or milk."

John sighed. "Water's fine, bastard."

Chas went to get the water, clasping his hands together so John wouldn't see them shaking. He got the water and brought it back, and John took it without a single word.

"You're welcome," Chas said, hopeful that the sarcasm would elicit a response. Instead, he just got a grunt.

"If you need anything else, just yell," Chas said quietly, slipping out of the room. He could've sworn that he'd cried all the tears in his body, but evidently not; he slid down the wall outside the bedroom, burying his face in his hands.

He could only wonder how long he could keep this up.


	4. Chapter 4

Chas was more exhausted than he'd ever been in his entire life.

He was physically ill, running on four or five hours of constantly interrupted sleep a night, he hadn't eaten more than a couple donuts in two days, and he was getting more and more frustrated with John's constant demands.

Bring him this, take that to Midnite, I'm hungry, I want this I need this…

It never ended. Chas understood, of course; John was in pain. John had been through a lot. But it had been three days, and he was getting stronger with each day.

He was also acting more like a bitch with each day.

Which was precisely why Chas was outside in a downpour of rain, walking relics and books around to John's various contacts. He would've drove, but he'd had to turn in the cab when he lost his job, and he was too embarrassed and worried that John would be mad to tell him that he'd lost his job.

It wasn't all bad. After all, the people Chas owed money to would never be able to find him if he stayed at John's place. Of course, he needed to find a new job, and he couldn't do to while nursing the exorcist back to health.

After dropping off the last relic he headed back to the apartment. He tried to wring the water out of his hat in the hallway, since John had thrown a holy fit the last time he did it in the house.

Upon entering the apartment, the first thing he saw was John on the floor. Not unusual; John had tried to walk many times.

"John…"

"Don't even fuckin' say it, Chas, don't say it," John snapped as Chas helped him back up into the wheelchair.

"I wasn't going to."

"Whatever. I know what you're thinkin'."

"Sure you do."

John sneered. "Damn straight I do," he said, his tone a warning. "Get me a cigarette."

"How about a 'please'?"

"Get me the _fuckin'_ cigarette, Chas."

John could be downright scary when he wanted to be, and this was one of those times. Chas sighed and grabbed the pack of cigarettes off the counter, and then paused a moment. After a hesitation for thought, he walked to the window, cracked it open, and threw the cigarettes out.

"You little fuckin' _prick_!" John yelped, his angry glare then locking on Chas.

Chas shrugged, trying not to look afraid. "You needed to quit anyway."

"Get me some damn cigarettes _now_, Chas."

"All you have to do it say please."

"I don't have to fuckin' say anything to you!"

Chas felt his throat tighten and his fists clench. "It's not that much to ask, John…"

"You're such a god damn useless bitch!" John snapped, grabbing the nearest object- a glass off the table- and giving it a good throw in Chas's direction. Chas's eyes widened and he ducked, and the glass shattered against the wall behind him.

"Useless?" Chas repeated coldly, his fear turning to a strange, restrained fury.

"You heard me, Chas, I want you to go and get-"

"No."

John's eyebrow twitched. "What the hell do you mean, no?"

"Exactly that," Chas said, slowly stalking toward John, eerily calm for the situation. "I've been your _bitch_ for two weeks, doing everything you told me to, even stuff you didn't. Fuck, if it weren't for me, you would've starved by now. And the second I ask for one word…_one fucking word, John_…you can't even give me that much."

Chas's tone was so strange, so tense, John couldn't find words to respond with. All the better, because Chas obviously wasn't done, and with each word his tone grew more desperate and his voice got louder.

"I put my fucking life on hold for you. I lost my job, lost my apartment, lost a shot at college, all because I wanted to stay and be here for you when you needed me. Help you up when you fall. Fucking fix your meals every day and make sure you're following doctor's orders," Chas continued, and then he reached John, slamming his hands down on the arms of the wheelchair with a steel grip.

"**_I asked for one fucking word after I've lost everything for you._**"

A silence. Chas, breathing hard, staring into John's eyes. John, looking panicked, leaning back in his chair, unable to speak.

"You're nothing but a self centered egotistical bastard," Chas whispered harshly, silent tears tracking down his cheeks. "Those doctors should've left you to die. I should've pulled the fucking plug on you. And if I didn't fucking love you, I would've, so help me God."

John's brow furrowed. "Chas, I…"

"**SHUT THE FUCK UP!**" Chas shrieked, shoving the chair backwards. "I'm _sick_ of your voice, I'm _sick_ of your damn lies and orders, and I'm _sick _of _you_!"

Chas took a few deep, shaky breaths, hardly noticing that John was about ten shades paler than usual. He reached for his hat and backpack with a calm demeanor that was hardly fitting of the situation, and then slowly walked to the door, his gaze a bit hazed over, not really there. He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"Burn in hell, bastard."

That said, he walked out the door.

* * *

Somehow, Chas found himself at the church.

He paced in front of the altar, hardly remembering how he got there, but it was pretty obvious from the fact that his clothes were soaked through with freezing cold rainwater. He was the only one in the church, since it was awfully late, and he spent a good ten minutes just pacing in front of the altar.

After that he stopped, looking up at the statue of the virgin Mary, her hands outstretched. He reached up and touched the statue's fingers, gently, almost as if he thought she was real.

"I know you throw all this shit at us to test us," he said quietly, his hand falling from the statue's. "But why'd it have to be all at once?"

No answer from the Holy Mother. A clap of thunder outside.

"Is this another Job thing? A bid between God and the Devil?" Chas continued, staring up at Mary's all-seeing eyes. "Because if it was, I think I just miserably failed."

"No, child…"

Chas spun around and blinked a few times. He hadn't heard anyone else come in, and yet there stood a man…woman…something in a suit. Feminine bone structure, golden hair, a smooth, British voice...but there was something distinctly male about it as well.

"Who are you?" Chas asked warily.

"Just a friend," the person said. "Looking out for you and John. My name is Gabriel."

_No wonder it's so weird, _Chas thought. _A half breed. Should've known._

"If you're looking out for me _and _John, you should probably go check up on him first. He might be hungry by now," he said bitterly, turning back to the statue, which remained as still and unemotional as any other stone.

"My dear boy…God loves you. He wouldn't give you more to bear than you can handle."

Chas shook his head. "I can't handle this."

"But you can. And you have," Gabriel pointed out, stepping up beside Chas. "You're the only person who could."

Chas snorted. "That's for damn sure."

"You have more strength and purpose than you know, Chas," Gabriel said softly, laying a comforting hand on Chas's shoulder. "John may not have yet realized that, but you will soon have every chance to prove your worth. Don't lose faith in yourself or him."

Chas sighed, not looking up at the half breed. "It's too much. I've lost everything, and now he's probably gonna be pissed at me…"

Gabriel reached up, using one finger to gently lift Chas's chin.

"Trust him. He trusts you."

Chas stared at Gabriel till the angel moved his hand and smiled. Gabriel touched Chas's curly hair, and then turned and walked away, into the back of the church.

Chas looked back up at the statue, and blinked in surprise. Hanging from the Holy Mother's fingers was a white rosary.

Timidly, he reached forward and took the rosary from her hand, studying it. A sudden warmth came over him, and his hand closed on the cross.

_You're right where you're supposed to be, doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing._

_Go back to John._

Chas put the rosary into his pocket and crossed himself quickly, giving the statue a smirk. Then, he turned and headed for the doors.

When he stepped back out into the night, he found that the rain had stopped.


	5. Chapter 5

When Chas walked in the apartment, it was utterly silent.

He put his hat and backpack down by the door, looking around warily. He finally saw John, sitting by the window in his wheelchair.

His eyes were red. Bloodshot.

He'd been crying.

"John?"

John blinked, glanced at Chas, but didn't respond. Chas stepped closer, and then he noticed an envelope in John's hands.

It was the letter from UCLA.

"John, listen, about what I said…"

"You turned them down?" John asked hoarsely, looking down at the envelope. "You stayed to help me?"

Chas paused, chewing nervously on his lower lip. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

Another long silence. Chas stepped closer.

"I didn't mean to yell at you."

"I deserved it," John said quietly, one finger trailing along the edge of the envelope. "I needed to hear it."

Chas wasn't about to argue. John had deserved it, by all means, and he didn't regret saying it; he simply regretted the tone he used in saying it.

"You've got to be starving. I'll get started on dinner," Chas said, turning to head for the counter, but John grabbed his arm to stop him.

"No. You sit. I'll make it."

Chas smiled nervously. "John, really. I don't mind."

"I said sit down, I meant it. Sit."

Chas was going to argue more, but John looked so damn determined that he didn't want to ruin it for him. He sat down at the table, staring at the tabletop as John wheeled himself over to the refrigerator.

"Where'd you go?" John asked after a few moments. "You're soaking wet."

"Not far. Just to the church."

"Why'd you come back?"

Chas smirked, able to feel the weight of the rosary in his pocket. "I had a change of heart."

He heard the sound of the microwave starting, and then John wheeled up next to him at the table. "Or is it just that you didn't have anywhere else to go."

Chas sighed softly. "I wouldn't have come back if I didn't want to. There are plenty of homeless shelters around here."

"I wouldn't let you stay in one of those."

The microwave dinged, and John wheeled over and got the food out of it, setting it down on the table. It was only two plates of warmed up leftover Chinese food, but to Chas it was a heavenly feast. He started eating with fervor.

John watched on, one eyebrow quirked, his fork hovering above his plate.

"Chas…when was the last time you ate something?"

Chas chewed thoughtfully, and then shrugged. "Not too long ago…"

"Chas."

"A few days?"

John groaned and rolled his eyes. "Why didn't you say something earlier? You're gonna kill yourself…"

Chas shrugged again. "It's not that big a deal," he muttered through a mouthful of rice.

"It is. It is. I mean, look at you. You look...you look sick, Chas."

"Aw, thanks," Chas said sarcastically.

"I'm being serious. And…and I didn't even notice before."

"I didn't expect you to."

"But you wanted me to."

Chas didn't have an answer for that. He swallowed hard and stopped eating for a few moments.

"You meant everything you said?" John asked after an awkward silence. "_Everything_?"

Chas stared at his food, and then slowly looked up at John. "What are you asking me, John?"

"You said you loved me."

Chas's breath caught. "Did I?"

"All I'm asking is if you really meant it or not. And if you didn't, nothing's going to change."

Chas paused again. "And…if I meant it?"

Their eyes met, John's gaze apprehensive, Chas's open and honest for the first time in a long time. When John didn't speak, Chas smiled.

"I wouldn't have stuck around and dealt with all this unless there was something crazy keeping me here."

John studied Chas for a few moments, as if searching for a sign that Chas was just lying to him. When all he saw was that child-like expression of openness, he sighed and looked down at the floor.

"I'm sorry, Chas," he mumbled, and Chas could've cried out with relief. Finally, that one thing he'd been waiting so long to hear, and he didn't have to beg for it, didn't even have to ask.

"It's okay," Chas said, his smile widening. "Worst part is over, right?"

"You're too optimistic for your own good," John said, chuckling.

Another silence fell, but not an uncomfortable one. John looked up at Chas, and moments later Chas leaned forward, catching John's lips in a clumsy kiss. John immediately returned it, reaching up to tangle his hand in Chas's soft curls, savoring a taste that was unique to Chas- and, of course, Chinese food.

It seemed like such a long time before they finally broke apart, and John opened his eyes to find that Chas's were still closed. The boy seemed lost in it all.

"You'd better get some sleep," John said, his voice a bit breathless. "You have to be at work in the morning."

Chas's eyes fluttered open and he frowned. "John…I lost my job earlier this week. I told you that."

"I know," John said, a smirk on his face. "And after you stormed out, I called your boss and cussed him out until he agreed to give you your job back."

Chas's expression brightened, and he laughed, leaning in and kissing John again.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and John shrugged.

"Somebody's got to drive me to those exorcisms. I rather it be you than anyone else."

* * *

I could've dragged out this story, but I really felt like this was the right point to end it. A short and sweet story. Thanks to all my reviewers, you guys (and gals) rock! 


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